


Fallen Star

by nessundorma345 (wastrelwoods)



Series: The Madman and the Trickster [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengerwho - Freeform, Because Frostiron, Gen, Gen in a way that is not at all gen, More than a little angst, Space Opera in progress, The Mechanic is a BAMF, Tony as a Time Lord, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/nessundorma345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, two drifted through the void, the place in-between where all lost things go and are never found. But these two were different. And instead of losing themselves, they found each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Star

**Author's Note:**

> _Do you remember your coming down_  
>  Forced to take sides  
> Your taunted charm and your broken smile  
> Touched me unexpectedly
> 
> IAMX - Kingdom of Welcome Addiction

The void was endless, and dark, and empty; crawling in through the broken splinters of his mind and spreading like poison, or blood in water. Loki fell silently, though every nerve screamed in agony, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, saying nothing. There was nothing more to be said. All that he had left to do now was die. End quietly, simply blink out, like a distant exploding star that would not be missed until long after his memory had faded.

_I could have done it, Father. For you, for all of us!_

_No, Loki._

A grimace contorted his mouth and his hands shook with the agony of remembering. Strange, how easy it was to forget himself, that he was falling, so lost was he in his musings. Falling was nothing to him anymore, not when he did not plan on landing. There was nowhere left to land, nowhere to belong, nowhere even to exist. He needed only wait, and Loki No-One's-Son would unravel and dissapate, his last life's thread snapped clean.

Something glittered in the ever-present darkness--a shard of bifrost, perhaps. Loki could not bring himself to care for its existence. Falling did not feel like falling in the void, but then the action itself was not a fall. A fall, he thought, is much more destructive than a simple journey through an abyss, a little tumble. His was a fall from grace, and it was such a fall that he knew in his icy heart that he had been falling for years without realizing it, perhaps for his entire life.

_Laufey's son?_

_And your death came by the son of Odin._

_I'm not your brother. I never was._

_When I'm king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!_

_Because I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night?_

A scream escaped his lips, bubbling over from all the fire and ice and rage inside his head and heart. " _Kill_  me already!" he screamed to the void, but the sound was swallowed up by darkness. Another noise, a shuddering sob. "Please. Please do it."

"Do what? Woah, sweet mother of fuck!" Loki started at the voice, brash and loud. His vision was blurred still, but he made out a trio of bright blue lights, scarce ten feet away. "You look just shy of hammered shit, there, Rock of Ages."

Loki blinked. There was...a man--Midgardian? perched on the roof of a flashy red-and-gold car--definitely of Midgard, then. Two of the lights were simply headlights, and the third appeared to be implanted in the mortal's chest--perhaps not Midgardian, after all. Loki blinked again. The hallucination refused to disappate.

"This is not what I asked for," he called to the void, his voice sounding rough with layered pain even to his own hollow ears. "I believe I begged for death, not hell!" The void ignored him. The mortal cocked an eyebrow jauntily, before his mouth opened in a little 'oh' of surprise. Loki made a valiant attempt to roll his eyes at the strange man, but spots danced in his vision and he passed out halfway through the motion. 

*

He awoke to find himself lying on the floor of a large, open room full of tools and tricks and bright lights. Closing his eyes immediately in favor of savoring the feeling of a hard surface at his back, the mortal with the light in his chest nearly missed his awakening. Unfortunately, the man was sharper than he looked.

"Rise 'n Shine, Sleeping Beauty! JARVIS wants to meet the new arrival, and I hate to keep him waiting, since he is our designated driver."

"Put me back," Loki groaned.

"No." 

"Why?" He opened his eyes. More bright lights on the ceiling, making him wince. He turned his head. The mortal sat in a chair by the giant console, half-preoccupied with a wrench and a metal glove, but his dark eyes were fixed on Loki, searching for a reply.

"Because." The wrench slipped, the mortal swearing and throwing it away. "Because I want to help you."

Loki laughed dryly, his throat tightening. Another "Why?" and then, "I need no help."

He stood, flexing his fingers inside the metal glove, shifing them in a way that caused the screens surrounding the console to whir around. "Really? Because you look like you need a drink." Distractions. Changing the subject. Loki sat up, aware that he wasn't going to get anywhere with the man anytime soon. "No? No drink?" he said after a moment. "Well. I'm having one."

A glass of something amber was lifted off the surface of the console, the mortal putting to his lips with relish. "Where did you say I am?"

He grinned. "The TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Typical Time Lord vehicle doodad-whatchamacallit. Me, I call him JARVIS, which stands for Just A Really Very Intelligent System. Less technical, which makes it better for everyone. As for where we are specifically? Something like Lower Manhattan, New York City, New York-"

"Midgard?"

"Earth, actually. And as for when, 's about three days since I picked you up. March 2012. Sorry, did you say Midgard? Because I've been to a lot of places and heard of a few more, and that is not one of them."

Loki sighed, brushing off the question, inching one hand to the top of the work table behind him and lifting himself up, slowly. His legs felt like they were on fire. Then again, so did everything else. He let out a hiss of discomfort, propping his full weight on the table. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Mechanic. But some people call me Tony Stark."

An amused grin flashed through Loki's eyes. "And that is your real name?" he questioned, with the knowing tone of a practiced liar.

"Of course not." The Mechanic--when had he gotten so close?-- hooked Loki's arm over his shoulders, helping him rise. "But enough about me, hitchiker--who are you?"

He laughed a laugh that turned quickly to a hacking cough that tasted of copper. "At present, no one." One painful step after another, then he was lowered into the Mechanic's chair. "But you may call me Loki."

"And what were you doing, floating out there in the depths of the Medusa Cascade, Loki the Nobody?--falling, sightseeing, waiting for your prince to come--" Loki closed his eyes at the sudden and monumental rush of blood-boiling anger and remebrance that swept through him. It must have shown on his face, because the Mechanic backpedaled. "Whoopsie. Tread on some toes with that one. Um...how long had you been...there?"

"In truth, I do not know. Perhaps...a year, by your standards."

He whistled. "You're one tough cookie. Does wonders to explain the cracks in your mind, though."

Loki sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes. "My mind is...cracked?"

He shrugged, fiddling with a dial on the console halfheartedly. "Well, not your _mind_ , per se--what would you call it? Your conciousness? Soul sounds a bit uppitty. Anyway, yeah. Cracks, like the foundation of your sanity was chucked against a brick wall and then trampled by a few dozen elephants. Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't had to restrain you yet. That was the first thing JARVIS mentioned when I dragged your ass in here, actually. Give our guest the run-down again, JARV?"

"Certainly, Sir." The voice echoing from the walls caused Loki's pulse to jump in his neck, fingers fumbling for the nearest available weapon. "Mr. Loki is currently sporting three broken ribs due to impact with a blunt, heavy object, a punctured lung, an unsteady heartbeat--one heart, I might add--and a core temperature somewhere below--"

"Cut to the chase, JARVIS," interrupted the Mechanic, oblivious to the mounting panic in Loki's eyes. The damned machine knew everything about him, could reveal his best hidden secrets in the blink of an eye.

"Sir's metaphysical damage amounts to a number of quite obvious lesions in the walls of his subconcious. It is difficult to predict the permanence of these lesions, or determine the original cause." It sounded almost smug. 

Eyes flickering shut, he drew in a deep breath. The infernal machine's voice sent waves of pain through his head. A cursory self-examination confirmed the robot's readings, though it was difficult to tell whether more was broken, the discomfort flowering all across his chest. These...cracks, too, would require a more thorough investigation. He felt it, at present, as a sort of openness, perhaps a wound left untreated, a weak spot open to exploitation. But there were more pressing concerns. Loki clenched his teeth in annoyance, undoing the vambraces at his arms. He stood, peeling off the heavy garment  studded with gold and leather, leaving his chest bare.

A sideways glance at the Mechanic served well enough to increase his frustration. "If you would do me the small courtesy of _not_ ogling, it would be infinitely helpful of you." He coughed, turning away to fiddle again with the metal gauntlet, and Loki continued with his examination. Bruises flared like sickly stars across his chest and most likely his back, an unwelcome reminder of Mjolnir's crushing weight against his struggles, just before the bridge had splintered. Odd, that they had not healed in such a time, and yet there was some property of the void that had preserved all else about him that it could be overlooked in favor of present medical attention.

"That does not look like a fun party, and I know parties both fun and not fun. Hold tight, I'll get you a med kit or something." 

"It is nothing," Loki murmured, drawing his seidr out to bathe the tips of his fingers in a green glow. Lights flashed in the corner of his vision, which he promptly ignored.

"Stop. Whatever you're doing, JARVIS doesn't like it," the Mechanic barked, flicking his dials like a madman. Loki ignored him as well, pressing the fingertips to his bruises and watching them recede until his pale skin swallowed the marks entirely. A rib popped back into position with a sharp crack, and he exhaled with relief. "Hey. I said stop it!"

He was about to lash out in annoyance when a sudden pressure mounted behind his eyes, the ship fighting back. His mouth opened in an O shape as his magic flared out completely. Loki blinked once, and collapsed again, sinking against the console to the floor. Turning his hands over in confusion, spots danced in the corners of his vision. His eyes found the Mechanic's. "Wh..what have you done?"

His dark eyes were wide, but he appeared frozen to the spot. "Weapons. No weapons allowed inside the TARDIS. Glow-y green healing-ish ones included." There was a pause, during which the Mechanic shifted closer and Loki moaned in pain. His head felt like it was splitting in two. "Your nose is bleeding." 

It had taken his magic.

And if the machine had taken his magic, he realized, what next? Loki swallowed, the tips of his fingers beginning to shift like the surface of a pool disturbed by children throwing pebbles. He met the not-mortal's gaze unsteadily. "And what besides that?" he murmured, venom in his every syllable. The Mechanic made no reply, eyes flitting across his face, calculating. Loki growled, launching himself at the man and drawing him up by the collar of his shirt until only inches separated their faces. "What besides _that_?" The blood dripping over his top lip tasted coppery, though in his mind's eye he saw its red beginning to shift to black. Hateful, hateful, _disguisting_ Jotun body--

"Your eyes. They're red, and--"

"Nidhogg's breath," Loki swore, tossing the Mechanic away from him. His hands shook, but he refused to look down and see the blue spread like a cancer across them. "Turn it off. Turn it off--the door. Where is the door?" His breath came in heavy pants. 

An unsteady finger pointed out the exit, and he bounded for it, tumbling out into the grass beside a line of cars. He wondered briefly where the ship had gone, but then wasted no time in rising to his hands and knees and cloaking his weary body both from passers-by and Asgard's distant watchman. The seidr blanketing him was warmer than a lover's arms, and he breathed a sigh of relief as paleness buried the hated blue once more.

"Loki? You under that perception filter somewhere?" Damn. The Mechanic's gaze did not sweep over him quite as it should have.

"If your cursed machine has permanently damaged my shields..." 

He shook his head, stepping closer and tapping at the blue circle of light in the center of his chest. "No, no. Sonic pacemaker, here, lets me do a lot of things I shouldn't be able to do. Also, I think I mentioned, but I'm a Time Lord, and I've seen more than a few perception filters in my day."

He sat up, lowering the shield with a sigh and doing his best to appear relaxed and alert, a guise he had perfected over the years. "And why did you follow me?"

The Mechanic grinned. "For a crazy homeless person, you're pretty cut."

Loki had almost forgotten his state of undress, and were he anyone else, he might have blushed. Might. As it was, he took the opportunity to rise fully to his feet, roll his shoulders, and hope that the shimmer as he summoned his armor was sufficiently diverting. The man had seen too many of his secrets today, and now it was Loki's turn. His eyes turned cold, calculating, but his smile still brimmed with false cheer. "What is your real reason?"

The Mechanic's grin faltered. "What do you mean?" Loki turned away, eyes scanning the horizon. All about them, buildings towered tall as Asgard's, though thankfully the resemblance ended there. Trees starved for space and clean air dotted the landscape. Cars and mortals everywhere, and nothing particularly worrying about them. None looked twice at the pair standing face to face in the too-trim grass. He glanced back at the Mechanic cooly, who exhaled swiftly, "You needed my help."

"And in return for your help, what service am I expected to provide?" Loki shifted back, tilting his head meaningfully. He saw a line in the sand between them, as he did with nearly everyone, separating his 'what-I-want' from their 'what-I-want-in-return'.

He shrugged, but there was something shrewd entering his face now, suggesting that he was aware whom he was dealing with. Loki allowed himself to smile internally. Many had made such a mistake before. "Travel with me for a while. See the sights, live life, enjoy the magic carpet ride, all that jazz. That's all I want, really. A companion."

No. No, he was not the kind to value companionship, it was easy to see in his face. There was something more, some other purpose. Did he want still more secrets drawn from Loki's lips, ripped from his very thoughts? If so, he would be in for a surprise. His mind whirred through the potentials until something clicked: the memory of a white jacket folded neatly atop a workbench. His eyes met the Mechanic's. "Who is she, then?" Loki murmured, and the other froze. "The woman I am meant to replace. The one you lost." Pain echoed in the depths of his eyes, a dagger that hit the mark square on. But how to twist the blade? 

"How...could you... _possibly_ know about that?" 

It was Loki's turn to smile. "Did you truly think me asleep? For three straight days?"

"You bastard." The Mechanic was disguisted, betrayed by the very idea. Simple, yet effective, the best sort of lie. "How long have you been sneaking around behind my back?"

 _Sneaking?_ Some do battle, and others just do tricks. It was a lucky shot on his part, but it still stung. He ignored the twinge. "Tell me, _Stark_ ," he mocked, "Would she be glad to hear that she was so soon forgotten, and so easily replaced?" A hit, a flinch. He prodded at the wound, ready to twist another knife, to give better than he got, and see his questions answered. "I would not be another in your line of _companions_ , Mechanic." Another hit, shot in the dark though it had been. "Have you treated all of them in this way, forgotten within the hour of their parting?"

He growled, a cornered animal baited at last into biting. Loki found himself staring down the center of the metal gauntlet at the man's wrist, where a blue light was gathering. "You can turn up your nose at me and my offer," he said, and Loki swallowed, "but you will _not_ mock my own." And then he fired an electric pulse directly at Loki's head.

The double wavered and disappeared, leaving only traces of a dim outline in its wake. The Mechanic's eyes scarce had time to widen before a blunt hit to the back of the head sent him sprawling. "Shame," Loki chided, balancing the staff in his palms, which had grown unused to its solid weight, "I thought you would be different. I have yet to see the day when that particular trick fails."

The Mechanic let out a snarl. "JARVIS," He clenched his teeth. "Let's show Mr. Loki a few tricks of our own."

He launched himself to his feet, a second, matching gauntlet flying to attatch itself to his left arm. Loki pulled the staff back to swing, his seidr beginning to shimmer around him as the Mechanic's armor assembled. An arm caught the staff, and he shifted his weight, twisting it until the gauntleted hand was bent backwards, forced to let go. A second bolt of energy whistled past his ear. 

With a smile that promised blood, he lifted the staff to strike again, splitting into three. "Holy balls," the Mechanic gasped, and shot him directly in the chest with a third bolt. Loki flew back into the verge with a shout, the illusions dissolving. Twisting up and to his feet as the armored man moved closer, he spun around the staff, planting his feet against the chestplate and sending him sprawling. 

They matched each other blow for blow, dust flying as the passersby began to congregate. Loki ducked and weaved, feeling more alive than he had ever thought the would feel again. 

"You just don't know when to say Uncle, do you?" panted the metal man, standing for the tenth time. His armor was dented where the trickster's blows had landed. Loki laughed, twirling his staff beween his hands, the tails of his coat swaying as he stepped back, grinning like a madman. A graze below his eye dripped scarlet down the hollow of his cheek, warm and sticky. The next bolt caught him in the ribs, newly healed, and suddenly the memories flooded his mind until all he could think was _Fight me, Thor_ and _Why can't I kill the hateful monsters? Because I am one, and I am too weak to finish all the race and then myself_ and he was falling again, jarring his empty bones and sending up a cloud of dust.

The Mechanic pinned him by one shoulder, faceplate sliding back and dispelling such despondant thoughts. This was not Thor. Loki's head fell back, cushioned by a surviving patch of grass. Silence fell for a moment, the anger leaving Stark's face to be replaced with an air of lofty smugness. "So that's a definite no on the companion thing, yeah?"

The doppleganger melted away, the Mechanic falling facefirst into the dirt. "Never." Loki smiled, planting a booted foot at the base of his neck. The metal man groaned.

And then the world grew fuzzy, a sharp prick on the back of his neck becoming evident. Loki fumbled at his hairline, the thin dart he discovered there coming as something of an unpleasant surprise. He blinked, swaying on his feet. "Hey, Space Man, is this guy bothering you?" The voice echoed strangely in Loki's skull as his vison was swallowed entirely by darkness.

*

Darkness reigned still when his eyes flickered open, blackness so complete that he wondered briefly if his eyes had opened at all. The distant sky was studded with unfamiliar stars, and the air was cold and still. But he knew instinctively that he was not alone.

Loki froze, breath shallow in his chest, as a heavy footfall rang out behind him. It grew louder, closer, until the stench of fetid breath entered his nose and claws raked gently through the hair on the back of his neck.

A low, gravelly laugh came from the creature as Loki tensed, staring straight ahead, eyes wide. "You are afraid, little godling," it said with a voice like the screaming inside his head. 

"What are you?" His voice shook, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The thing ignored him, tracing its claws again on his neck, up to his ear, where it leaned in close enough to bite. "You will know us better hearafter, Loki of Asgard. You and your Time Lord both." The claws dug in, deep into the lesions of his mind, ripping at them with savage hooks, and Loki jolted awake with a scream of agony.

The glass was cool against his cheek. He moaned, having half expected to find himself still tumbling through the void. A different prison awaited him, it seemed. "--elevated heart rate, and literally no heat signature."

"Yeah, he does that." The Mechanic's voice echoed. "But why did he scream?"

"It wasn't us, that's all we know. He just--screamed and collapsed, just like that. Burned right through the goddamn handcuffs." A clinical voice, like that of a palace guard, or Heimdall.

" _He_ is awake," came the first voice again. Loki opened his eyes, vision temporarily flooded with blue-white light. The glass against his face was all around him, a cylindrical white prison above open air, with a single bridge connecting it to the interior of a larger room. Three figures stood at the bridge, staring down at him. The smallest, with violently red hair and a deceptively cool smile, quirked an eyebrow. "Welcome to UNIT."

He raised himself to his hands and knees, then stood as regally as he could manage, exhausted bone-deep as he was. The same restricting force as within the ship held his magic captive, buried within him. Not ripped away entirely; they had left Odin's precious lie intact, thank the Norns. "I suppose I have you to thank for the little getting-to-know-you present? Sedatives?"

Her eyes flashed, calculating how much to reveal. Another liar, he thought, and a practiced one at that. But Loki of Asgard had played the best of them. "Barton and his elephant tranquillizers," she said lightly. "Shouldn't have worn off for another three hours. But our scans show that your system purged the drug half an hour ago."

The second man was stoic and dark like Heimdall, but what made Loki's eyebrows rise was the single dark eye that glowered down at him. He stood behind the woman and the Mechanic, arms clasped lightly behind him. A commander, judging by his stance. Barton? No, the woman was a soldier, not likely to have been out in the field with this overseer, who looked like the kind who could handle a weapon but knew that giving orders for others to handle weapons was a much more fulfilling job. "Anything you want to tell us about why that is? Or maybe you could tell us about the little power nap you just started from, Mr. _Loki_?"

It appeared that the Mechanic had been playing show-and-tell. Loki ran his tongue over his teeth, envisioning creative experiments to conduct with his internal organs. "You wish to know the substance of my dreams? My, Director, but that is rather personal." 

The one-eyed man looked entirely unaffected by the reference to his rank. Perhaps he knew it to be obvious. Or, judging by the glance he was sharing with the Mechanic, his little fib about feigning sleep had also been shared with the class. At any rate, it would be easier to swallow than assuming a prisoner was at all _observant_. He passed the obligatory stare-down gleaning as much as could be deduced about the man. Beyond rank, there was nothing. The woman, too, was difficult to read, though she seemed more familiar with the Mechanic. This organization must have had some history with the so-called Lord of Time. Realizing that no response was forthcoming from the trio, Loki sighed. "Your associate will inform you that I currently sport a number of... tears in the wall of my mind. They disturb my dreams. As for my system combatting your drugs, I suspect you know the answer already." 

"You're an alien," the petite woman stated matter-of-factly. "One we haven't seen before. Stark doesn't know what you are, either, and Stark usually knows."

"And so, here I am. Caged, and most extravagantly too. Dissect me and find out. Or do you worry I'll bite?"

The Mechanic's eyes tightened incrementally. Had he developed some misplaced protective urge already? "That really doesn't sound like the best plan. Not when you could just tell us. Show us, maybe?"

His face hardened. "Now that really _is_ personal." 

_Monster parents tell their children about at night--_

Spots in his vision. He closed his eyes to blink, but when they opened the room was dark. He did not understand it, this weakness, especially mental weakness. Was it another dream, then? No, no claws at his neck. A dream-walker so experienced as he knew the taste of dreams, especially his own, and the air was empty of it like the vacuum of the void. Before him blinked a single blue-white screen, just beyond the thick glass. 

_Match: Aesir. Home planet: unknown. Last sighting: April 5th, 2011, Puente Antiguo, New Mexico._

A picture of Thor beamed down at him. His heart constricted painfully, and he hissed, turning his back to the monitor and closing his eyes again.

*

Meanwhile, five blocks outside of the UNIT base, the last of five agents reported missing was found.

*

Loki dreamed of falling, a blue light flooding his vision, claws ripping into his mind as he free fell for eternity and no time at all with no one to hear his screams. His eyes opened to the flourescent ceiling of the cage. The redheaded woman was staring down at him, her eyes like uru, hard and polished. 

 

"He travels alone, and he shouldn't," she murmured, turning away, leaning the curve of her spine against the glass.

Loki sat up as much as possible,  
relaxing into the slope of the wall at his back like it was a throne, a talent he had always posessed. "Who?" he asked innocently, though there was only one man she could be referring to.

She gave him a look. "Don't patronize me. The Mechanic. Stark."

"Stark." He ran the name over his tongue like a prayer, tasting it. It was a fitting lie, at least, the false moniker. Rather like the word brother. "Why do you call him that?"

She shrugged, the material of her catsuit hugging her shoulders. "It's what he wants to be called. Doesn't matter what his real name is."

"And what might yours be, Milady Scarlet?"

"I said don't patronize me," she deadpanned. "Agent Romanov. Or Rushman. Or Romanova. Occasionally Black Widow. It depends on...a lot of things."

He nodded. She donned names like masks, changing day to day. Like he changed moods, or motivations.

"He travels alone. He didn't used to." Romanov glanced over her shoulder at him. "He asked you to travel with him."

It wasn't a question. Loki nodded ever so slightly anyway.

"I don't trust you." 

A laugh bubbled past his lips at that, an honest, real laugh, bitter as it was. Trust him? Who in their right mind ever would? Certainly not Loki himself.

"Nat," the Mechanic's high voice echoed off the sloped walls of the prison room.

"I'm interrogating a prisoner, Stark." 

His face appeared in the doorway, eyes grim and dark. The woman stood straight, smelling blood in the water. "You'll want to see this," he stated solemnly.

She swept out past him in a fluid movement, leaving the two of them alone. The Mechanic stood still, eyes hard, until her footsteps faded in the distance. Then he reached out, banishing the transclucent blue screens with a flick of his wrist, and followed her out. Strange, that metal gauntlet of his. Loki wondered if he ever took it off. There was being prepared, certainly, but it seemed almost paranoid to wear a weapon so constantly visible. Rather like magic, he concluded bitterly. Who knew better than he the fine art of being overdressed and paranoid?

He missed his helmet, but he had long since lost it to the swirling maelstrom of the void, as he had lost so much else. Loki found himself craving a moment of true privacy, to collect himself, come to terms wth his situation, and plan his next step. A liar with no allies, no side to back or betray, and no motivation is a dead liar. 

The Mechanic swept back into the room, interrupting his musings with a less-than-polite cough. Loki hummed in agknowledgement, glancing over his shoulder at the man, who paused outside the cell door. "Director Fury wants to talk to you." Something in the way his tongue hovered over that word, _talk_ , displayed the perhaps unpleasant connotations of the idea. 

Loki chuckled dryly. "And he sent you to...collect me, did he, your director?" He stood regally, turning and submitting his hands, palms up, for the cuffs that had been waiting on the bench outside the cell all night. 

"Nope." Loki stilled, raising a brow, mantaining eye contact as the glass door slid open with a mechanical hiss. "But he'll send someone else along in a minute or so, and they'll be a lot less fun than I personally think I am." The cuffs slid into place over his wrists. He busied himself by letting his gaze linger on his captor's hands: warm brown, littered with scars and burns, hands of a smith--and the right was gauntleted, of course. The metalwork was astounding, intricate, his eyes growing narrower as he took in each detail. And the light in his chest--incredible. The Mechanic followed his gaze with unnatural practiced swiftness. "Hey. Eyes up here, honey." 

Loki sighed, sparing one last glance over his shoulder at the cozy little glass prison. To anyone else, his gaze appeared shuttered and vague, but in truth his eyes mapped out and memorized every detail of the place. Once or twice he shielded himself from the cameras, just for a bit of fun. 

The new prison was smaller, though just as white. Loki scoffed, wondering if sensory deprivation was their goal. Perhaps it was all a test, an experiment. Why else would they keep him captive?  

He sat as primly as he could in the plain, plastic chair under the dark gaze of the director, folding his bound hands across his lap. The Mechanic fixed the both of them with a strange look from his position in the corner. The director nodded almost imperceptibly.  

"You want me to talk, I imagine, although I must admit I am entirely in the dark about what exactly it is you wish me to say."

"As a matter of fact," Fury growled, clapping both palms against the table, "I was kinda hoping you would shut up and listen for a little while."

Loki smiled thinly and shortly, inclining his head with a measure of generosity that he most certainly did not feel. The director stood, turning on heel and pacing to the other end of the cramped room, where a motionless body lay on a simple white strecher. Loki arched an eybrow, waiting patiently for an explanation. The Mechanic started, crossing the room in two strides and scanning the unresponsive form, the light of knowledge glinting in his eyes. 

"Agent Clint Barton. You've already met--he's the one who pumped you full of tranquillizers yesterday morning." Loki allowed a smirk to flick up one side of his face, however unwise it might have been. "He went missing last night, and we found him again this morning. Like this, slumped against the wall of a back alley. And he isn't the first." 

Loki leaned into the table, quirking his head again. "Mmm," he acknowledged, doing his best to look very innocent.

The Mechanic hummed distractedly in reply, prodding the empty vessel's face with his gauntleted and naked hands alternately. "I really don't think he was involved, Fury. Just because he has motive--"

"He doesn't suspect my involvement, Mechanic dear; he wants advice." Loki said dryly. Honestly, the simpleton. 

"Oh. No, no, no, I'm the go-to solving alien mysteries alien guy here. Why would you go to him? We don't even know who he is."

Fury turned on him. "Yes, and we don't know what this is, either. And neither do you, which is saying something." He turned again, engaging Loki in a staring contest, which was folly against one who had stared into the depths of the void and survived. "What can you tell us?"

"Scarce anything, from here," he scoffed. He held out his cuffed hands for examination. "If you would..."

"Stark." The Mechanic grumbled, tearing himself from the body to unlock the handcuffs and tug them roughly from his wrists. Loki bid him thanks, sweeping past him with equal roughness.

It took but a moment's cursory examination to see what they had missed, or lacked the experience to deduce within their frail mortal skulls. Their man seemed, for all intents and purposes, dead. But so dead, Loki realized, as to arouse suspicion. Even the most mutilated body, freshly dead as this, retained some measure of life force, and Barton had none. Not even a trace. His eyes, the final clue, were wide open, and milky white from lid to lid. "His soul has been taken."

"How...?" the Mechanic ventured, then sighed, "Nevermind."

Loki glanced over at him, then back down, searching the agent's blank face for clues. "There have been others, you said?"

"The disappearances have been happening for a week now. That's why we called Stark here." The director appeared to be in full debrief mode, all hard data and cold looks. "Didn't expect to get you."

"It came as something of a surprise on my part as well, director; rest assured," he murmured, folding his hands behind his back. Time to put on a show. "Although perhaps not for all involved."

 

The Mechanic straightened, moving in closer from his position by the chair. "What do you mean?"

"Demons do not work in this manner, traditionally, picking off each soul that crosses their path."

"So?" His arms folded across his chest, smothering the blue circle of light. 

"So," he rolled his eyes, "These are but the precursor to the main event. The demon wants one specific soul, one more tainted than any in the galaxy, and one infinitely more powerful."

Both eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "And you think you meet that description, do you, hitchiker?"

Loki scoffed. "No."

"No?"

"No, Mechanic. I think that you do."

Fury was silent, but the Mechanic bristled. His eyes narrowed, arms falling to his sides, where fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans. The air filled with the sharp smell of winter. One step closer, and then another. It was a surprisingly  intimidating demonstration, given his natural disadvantages in the area of height. Loki blamed his general irritablility and lack of sleep for the soft prickle of primal fear that slid across his spine. Regardless, he remained poised enough not to flinch. "Think about it. A creature such as this could never touch you on board your craft. It _brought_ you here."

"You could not stand to see your pitiful humans in danger." Loki and the Mechanic spun around at the gravelly, black voice. The trickster was suddenly and altogether unpleasantly reminded of claws at his neck. The empty thing was talking, pale eyes gone opaque and dark with the presence spilled into them. "We knew you would come running to save them."

"Mephisto, darling. It's been too long." Faux-sweetness dripped from his tongue like poisonous honey.

"The Mechanic. The broken little fix-it man with his shiny toys and his sparkling companions. Is this one new? How long since he followed you home?"

(Liesmith.) It was eerie beyond measure, how the _thing's_ lips moved stiffly with the mismatced voice. But his voice, that voice within his _head_ was what twisted Loki's insides with undiluted fear and made the room seem to shrink around him until he was forced, stumbling, back to the chair, staring blankly at the wall opposite and willing himself not to curl up further. It spoke to him, directly into his mind, brushing through the cracks in his defenses with a laugh. (Trickster. We desire confidence with you.) When the Mechanic again addressed the thing, his voice blurred in Loki's ears like a distant echo, or a dream. 

"What are you doing?"

A laugh like the snap of bone. "We are taking him apart." (We have a propositon for you, Loki of Asgard.)

His mind was screaming now, frightened as a little child dreaming of frost giants under the bed, stabbing at his feet with icy hands. The room spun, and he tasted copper. He couldn't breathe, his chest hurt, he was falling, dying, falling forever--

"Don't touch him." There was a crackle of energy, a loud snap, and the world refocused. He concentrated on breathing, every inhalation a flare of pain.

The Mechanic knelt by his side, together on the white floor. A hand rubbed at his back in hestitant little circles. Loki laughed dryly, low in his throat, pulling away and standing. Director Fury knelt a little way off, clutching his head in hands. "He is speaking in your mind."

A growl. "Make. It. Stop." 

"What does he say?"

"Loki!" The Mechanic stood behind him. He silenced him with a gesture, stepping forward. 

"What does the monster say?"

Fury raised his head, every inch a battle, to meet Loki's eyes. "He's doing it again, goddamnit. He's doing it right now."

There was a scream, soft in the distance. The trickster and the Mechanic made eye contact for a fraction of a second before tearing out the door.

*

He could not recall what color her eyes were, strangely enough. Had they been brown, simple and straightforward? No, she was--had been--exceptional. Her eyes must have been gray, or green, like his own. Perhaps the Mechanic would know. Loki swallowed, gaze frozen on the sickly white of Romanov's soul-less eyes in her still face. A crowd gathered around her, murmuring and worrying and utterly confused; a herd of mindless sheep. He stood aloof, propped against the white wall, breathing heavily. And, as he always had done in situations like this, Loki watched. 

He saw the pain clearly visible in Stark's own expressive dark eyes, observed him as he knelt before her crumpled form silently. There was history there, such history that even as talented a diviner as he would only be grasping at straws to form such theories as he might. One conclusion was obvious: that he would vow revenge.

And as for himself, he knew not what to feel. He...regretted, perhaps, that a fellow deciever had fallen through no fault of his own. But vows of revenge were hardly his area of expertise. 

"Where did you meet the beast, before?" he heard himself ask. The scattered mortals looked on him with confusion, as though they had only just seen him, which was precisely the effect Loki's watching tended to produce. 

The Mechanic did not look up, gritting his teeth. Carefully, his ungloved hand reached forward to brush her eyelids, drawing them over the empty white orbs until she could have been merely asleep. "It's a very long story." He moved to stand, slowly, as though afraid of waking her. "And kinda _personal_." A corner of Loki's mouth turned up sardonically, and he nodded. 

"You. And you. Put her somewhere safe. Very extremely safe. And give her a bowl of strawberries, on me, for when se wakes up. Because she will." The Mechanic clapped his hands, storming past Loki until a few meters separated them, and then froze. "Oh, and put the hitchiker back in his cell. No distractions, and definitely no more victims. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a deal with the devil."

A sharp stab of something akin to betrayal pricked at Loki's side, but his face remained impassive. It was only to be expected, after all. He extended his hands for the bonds, only to have them jerked roughly behind his back instead, marched--no, paraded through the white blank walls by a dozen of the agents, rather heavily armed. 

The cell door slammed behind him. Loki stood calmly in the center of his cell, listening to the echo reverberate from each facet of the outer chamber.

So, he considered, lowering himself to the ground, so. It was time, it seemed, to choose a side.

*

The director wasted no time in returning to finish what he had started, scarce an hour passing between the closing of the outer door and its slow, hesitant re-opening. Loki smiled, because he knew it unnerved any would-be interrogator from discovering how truly uncertain he was. "There are a very few creatures in this universe that can sneak up on me," he announced, watching his approach reflected in the glass before him. "You are not one of them, director." 

No reaction. Ah, well, it was hardly his best opener. "And how doth our dear Mechanic?" he continued, turning smoothly to face the director.

"Last I saw, pacing the hallways like a decapitated chicken." He pulled up a chair, sitting just outside the heavy door like a child in a zoo awaiting a chance to tap on the glass. "Why? You miss him?"

"I'm positively _pining_ ," Loki deadpanned, mirroring his actions and sitting comfortably in the center of the prison-web in which he was both spider and fly. "Tell me about him."

"That's usually a question I'd be putting to you." 

"Ask, and I fear you will be disappointed with the answers I can give. However--" Fury perked up, monocular gaze meeting Loki's. "Give me answers in turn, and time, and perhaps the situation will change." 

He leaned back coolly, allowing the message to sink in. The director was by no means a slow man, but a careful one he was. His eyes fell closed, searching and waiting.

"I was wrong about you," he replied at length. "I really thought you'd back his side, I gotta say."

"Loyalty is for the weak. I give loyalty to that which I believe best benefits myself in the moment and in those to come," he explained, eyes half-lidded. "I... do what I want, one might say."

"I won't tell you your offer isn't tempting, Mr. Loki. However, given the cirumstances I'm not really inclined to trust you, either."

"Do what you will." He closed his bright eyes again, inhaling slowly and deeply. Strange, how even now he could feel a slight buzz of pain deep inside the farthest reaches of his mind. Of course, a tumble through the uncharted void will have somewhat lasting effects even on a god. Or something like that, anyway.

Loki's jaw tightened incrementally at the thought. 

"You want to know about him? The mysterious Mechanic?" His tone gave nothing away, steadier than the roots of Yggdrasil. 

"If you are _inclined_ to provide such information," Loki answered with equal apathy. The floor felt pleasantly cool and solid beneath him, as usual, though the lights were far too bright for his liking.

"Our organization first came into contact with him ten years ago. We had a bit of a run-in with an army of metal-plated eggheads bent on wiping out the planet. He showed up right in the nick of time, the flash bastard, in that shiny car of his." Loki furrowed his brows, uncomprehending, but the director paid him no mind. "Made our lives hell ever since, but we owe him. We really do owe him, damnit."

"But Romanov knew him before." Loki's eyes fluttered open, challenging him to deny it. 

The director leaned forwards, head almost meeting the surface of the glass cylinder. "That's her story to tell, not mine."

Fair enough, once she was reclaimed. Or if she could not be, there were other ways to glean the information within her head. Loki's fingers twitched, drawing invisible patterns into the floor of the cage. "And _what_ is he, this friend of yours?"

Fury scowled, "Something vast and unknowable. He travels through time--and space, too. He can spend years off in the wild blue yonder running from something we can't understand, but he always comes back when we need him. He's arrogant, and brilliant, and more than a little insane, and right now he's planning a way to get me my agents back. The question of th hour is: what're /you/ doing with him?"

A faint laugh bubbled up in Loki's chest. "My dear director, I haven't the faintest idea." He pulled himself up, leaning forward with his hands against his knees. "But I do know one thing: I'm going to find out." 

The runes drawn at his feet glowed brightest green for a fraction of a second, and then he was pulled in like a breath of fresh air into lungs resurfacing from the depths of the sea, twisting apart with a roar like thunder, leaving the director alone beside an empty prison.

He blinked, rising to his feet too quickly, then sinking back into the chair. " _Fuck_."

*

Loki materialized in the same narrow hallway where Romanov had been discovered, smoke rising from his armor with a smell like burnt hair. His lip curled in disgust: such an utterly _inconvenient_ method of travel, teleportation. His head spun and his ears popped, causing him to let loose a barrage of blasphemous and somewhat disturbing curses under his breath. Stumbling sideways into the white wall, he swore again. 

The unfortunate UNIT agent who had happened to be walking down the hallway a few short seconds beforehand looked up at him in awe and fear. Loki cursed her as well, fully aware that, speaking in the Old Tongue as he was, the words would have no effect.

"... _What_ are you going to do to my mother?" she asked, trembling in her Midgardian boots. Loki fixed her with a scrutinizing glare.

"You speak the Old Tongue? How came you to know it? Tell me!" He advanced on the woman, who backed hurriedly away until the wall stopped his progress.

"No...no, it's," she swallowed, "The Mechanic...his ship translates for us - don't kill me I'm too pretty to die!" Her eyes closed in an exaggerated wince.

Loki groaned, running a hand through his untamed hair. "Who are you?" 

She opened one eye experimentally. "Darcy Lewis, UNIT coffee girl. Are you a demon, because the Mechanic said there was a demon hanging around looking scary and you're literally the scariest thing I've ever seen, and that's counting the time a giant robot lit Puente Antiguo on fire--"

"Do you ever stop talking?" She silenced herself quickly, though the effort involved appeared to be great. "And no, believe it or not, Miss Lewis, I am no demon." Puente Antiguo? The name was somehow familiar in his ears. He ignored it; there were much more pressing matters to attend to. "The Mechanic, you mentioned him. Where is he?"

The mortal girl bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably against the wall. "He said...the roof, but--"

Loki turned away, and she cut off, stammering. The smoky smell still lingered in the air, tasting as foul as it smelled. "Thank you for your help, Miss Lewis," he dismissed her, bending over and drawing the pattern of runes at his feet for the second time that day.

His stomach flipped over with vertigo as he was twisted apart and re-assmbled again, this time under the cover of his shields. 

It was strange that he was shocked at the sight that greeted his eyes, because he was of course no stranger to appearing in the middle of such scenes. Warriors fighting; frost giants on the hunt; the Allfather at a council meeting--he'd looked in on many things. He saw the universe nearly as completely as Heimdall did, and with the added advantage of remaining himself unseen. 

But here he was, on a rooftop of a city in Midgard. The stars above him, the people below, and a madman with a time machine was summoning the devil.

The utter _moron_.

"Come on, then!" he roared to the sky. "It's me you want, Mephisto! So come and claim me, if you dare!"

The laugh that answered him sent a cold dread trickling down Loki's spine. He swallowed, retreating to relative shelter near the door leading below. It echoed across the rooftop, bouncing from surrounding buildings, and it made the foundations of the earth tremble. The smoke that filled his nostrils was thicker and more choking than the remnants of his own arrival. 

It was coming to claim him. 

There was a crack and a blaze of fire, of course, redder than spilt blood and hotter than the breath of a fire demon. It flickered deep in the Mechanic's dark brown eyes, so deep that it was impossible to tell how much of the spark blazed within himself. Loki himself had no such spark, he grimaced, only a pillar of ice. 

The creature who emerged gracefully, stepping through the veil of flames like a deathly curtain, stole the very breath from Loki's lungs. His skin was burnished red, glistening like blood, and he was dressed immaculately in a dark pinstripe suit. A pair of thick, sharp horns jutted out from his forehead, curving back sharply against his skull. He stood tall as a fire demon, with beady black eyes set on the Mechanic like he was a fresh cut of meat.

"You have given up so easily, Time Lord?" His voice was easily as powerful in person as it had been in his earlier message, and darker. "You have come here to surrender, this we know. You have come here to die."

The Mechanic snorted. "Hardly. I'm here to make you give me back my friends. Which you will."

The demon smiled malevolently. "And if I refuse?"

He raised the gauntleted hand slowly, levelling it at the creature's face. "You won't."

It was positively roaring with laughter now, muscular arms clasped around its middle, shaking with mirth. "You think... with your puny toys? You are not so great as you believe yourself to be. But you are insolent enough that I will treasure tearing your soul in twain _immensely_." Abruptly the laughter ceased, the creature moving one step closer, clawed fingers curling into fists at its sides. "Where will I keep the fragments, I wonder? I've been saving a special place for your soul, Mechanic, just close enough that you can hear the screams of those you could not save-"

A strangled yell escaped his lips as he fired a bolt of energy from the gauntlet. Mephisto dodged it, pure, unadultarated fury filling his eyes. "You little..."

"I am The Mechanic!" he hollered, voice hoarse with rage. "I am the oncoming storm, Bane of the Daleks, Merchant of Death, and the last of the Time Lords!" The light in his chest reflected a strange blue glow on his face in the starlight, standing almost at the edge of the rooftop. "And _no one_ touches my friends!"

Silence fell. Loki shivered with something unrelated to the cold. And then the demon laughed again, long and so low that it was almost impossible to make out. "I do not fear you, Time Lord." He reached out a dripping red hand, pulling at something that caused the air to shimmer and the Mechanic to stumble, one hand clasping at his chest. 

It's the entrances that really count, he knew, and so the trickster summoned his best armor and fixed a few tricks up his sleeve. The helmet's comfortinf weight on his head was nearly unbalanced by the new, wickedly curved horns. Intimidation was everything, though, and infinitely worth the initial discomfort. For good measure, and as an afterthought, he slicked a hand back through his wild curls, taming them to his own preferred sort of chaos. The cloak of night fell from him to pile at his feet as he stepped forth, a spear grasped loosely in one hand. "I am Loki of Asgard, and you really should." 

Mephisto stared. The other whistled. "Holy shit, that is one ridiculous helmet." Loki rolled his eyes, then spun, releasing the dagger hidden in his other hand and watching it sink into the demon's flesh with a heartfelt relish. He gave himself a quarter of a second to gloat before lauching himself fully at the creature, aiming to unbalance him over the edge. 

Truly, it would have worked out _wonderfully_ if the demon had not caught him in midair. A bone-crushing grip threw him bodily to the ground, twisting his weapon from his grip. It clattered across the cement, sliding to a stop on the opposite side of the rooftop. Loki's sides heaved, and he coughed, blood spattering the creature's feet. The claws reached under his chin, lifting his head upwards until his gaze met the burning black eyes of the devil. 

"Poor little god. Always so _weak_. I will feast on your soul first." And then his mind burned, agony arcing his spine. Loki heard screams, supposed they were his own though the pain was too immense for him to fully realize it. He could feel his shredded being as it was forcibly torn from its root deep inside him. Soon he would be nothing more than an empty shell, burning in a monster's hell, dying forever because of his foolish sentiment for a stranger...

"Hey!" The pain cut off suddenly, leaving his whole body sore and raw, as though it had been chafed with steel wool. "I thought I made it clear not to mess with my friends, regardless of helmet envy!" 

"Not...your friend," he groaned, forcing himself onto his hands and knees. The beast ignored him, turning again to face the time-traveller. 

"You said you wanted me. My soul." He paused, waiting for a confirmation, which Loki assumed he recieved. "Here's the thing about that, Mephisto. I don't have one. Or... well, I'm special. I'm a time traveller, you see. My soul is a pathway through time and space, and to sign it over to you would be impossible." 

"I can still take his." Loki winced, trying and failing to shift away. His fingers fell to his sides, useless, shaking too hard to grasp a knife or draw a rune.

"But you won't. You'll let him go, and Barton and Romanov too, because I'll make you a deal."

His eyebrows shifted upwards, signifying interest. "What kind of a deal?"

The mechanic smiled like a hungry barracuda, lowering his weapon to his side. "I'll give you something no one else can give you. Time. Memories."

"For three of my most treasured ones? I will need more pursuasion than a few paltry mortal years." Loki tried desperately not to cough again, crawling away as quickly as he could, managing only centimetres at a time. 

It was his turn to laugh now. "Nine hundred and thirteen years is nothing to sniff at, Horny. And I told you, I'm not mortal."

The demon looked doubtful. Loki shuddered, the fire's heat feeling as though it was melting the skin from his bones. Mephisto looked down at him, almost curious, and he stared back up defiantly. (And you, Liesmith? Why should I let you go?)

"Because," he answered before realizing that the thing had spoken directly into his mind. "Because you can take mine as well."

His brows elevated further than before. "Really? All those secrets revealed so easily, Trickster?"

He smiled, the smoke causing his eyes to water. If his plan is what I think it is... Loki exhaled slowly. "You have more need of them than I."

His mouth bared in something like a laugh, only wider and hungrier. The world shimmered, and in the distance Loki heard the echo of the Mechanic falling to his knees as well. "Take... it... all!" 

His memories flashed before him, like snowflakes dancing in open air.

_Do the frost giants still live?_

_Mother, why do Thor's friends hate me so?_

_Second son, unloved._

_TELL ME!_

_You are my brother and I love you._

_Well, you are coming with us, are you not?_

_I could have done it, Father. For you. For all of us._

_No, Loki._

And memories that were not his own flashed across his field of vision, too. 

_Gave me one last golden egg, Tony._

_Anywhere, anywhen you wanna go, baby!_

_Let go, Pepper! I'll catch you!_

_I would have caught her, personally._

He spared a sideways glance at the Mechanic, backup plans running through his mind, but none would work if this plan failed, damn it all.

And then Mephisto's smile froze on his face, letting out a deadly scream.

"It's too much, isn't it, darling?" bellowed the Time Lord. "Hell, even I can't contain that many memories at once, and I doubt the hitchiker's haul helped much."

"What have you done?" He garbled, seeming to shrink back into his fiery curtain, hands clutching at his horned head. 

Loki smiled as he rose to his feet for the hundredth time since ending his fall. Perhaps this time traveller was having some influence on him. "Never steal the memories of a madman." 

"Two madmen, actually. Now, it's your turn." He narrowed his eyes at the creature, still clasping his temples in agony. "Give. Them. Back."

The monster's head rose until they could see the unmistakeable promise of revenge sparkling in his black eyes. One shaking hand rose, and he growled, snapping his fingers once and melting into the night air like a bad dream. (Not done with you yet.)

Loki bent in on himself like a house of cards, breathing in and out rapidly, hands clasping his knees for support. Mad laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in his throat, spilling over his lips in something he would later deny sounded like a giggle. 

The Mechanic stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief, and then stumbled over to him, cackling with laughter. "We did it," he gasped out, clapping him on the shoulder. 

"We did it," he echoed, letting the cool night air wash over him. "Did we really?"

"I don't know." They sobered for a second. The world was still and dark, like the void, but full of life as well. The Mechanic flashed him a confident grin. "But that was   more fun than I've had in years! Let's never, ever do it again."

*

Her soul flew back into her body with a not altogether surprising whiplash, and she bolted upright with a muffled curse. 

The nurse at the end of the bed blinked at her, fingers quivering where they rested on his little clipboard. "Doctor? Yeah, she's... I don't know... She's back." He gave her a wide, genial smile used to make small children stop crying. She narrowed her eyes, and he cleared his throat nervously.

Sighing, she sank back onto the pillows. "I _hate_ whiplash."

"Everything appears to be in order, Agent Romanov. No whiplash. No residual effects of your ordeal, too, besides a somewhat elevated heart rate," he all but cooed, checking over the tubes and wires stuffed in her with that fake smile still in place. 

"Get the doctor, after he's done checking Barton," she snapped, and he jumped, nearly dropping the clipboard. "Barton is back, correct?"

"Erm," he mumbled, "Is he...?"

She glared, and he backed hurriedly out of the room. She closed her eyes, sinking into the hospital bed, when he came scampering back to thrust his head again through the door. "Agent Romanov! I almost forgot--the strawberries on the table-- those are for you."

Giving them a discrete look in the corner of her vision, Romanov scowled. "I hate strawberries." She sat up again. "Who sent me _strawberries_?"

The nurse blinked again, a blank look entering his eyes. He seemed... lost. "It's odd. I really can't remember."

*

It had really been quite some time since Loki had last found himself lucky enough to be staring directly down the barrel of a gun. Truth be told, however, he hadn't missed the experience much at all. "Should I perhaps be concerned?"

 

"No, no," the Mechanic snorted. "They do this all the time, totally fine. Hey, mind if I speak to good ol' Saint Nick?" 

The UNIT soldiers looked unperturbed and utterly unamused, which was a shame. Loki might have thought of taking it upon himself to improve their collective sense of humor, if he had the time to spare. Then again, what better way had he to occupy himself these days? 

The director stepped out from behind a handful of agents, single eye dark and merciless. "Who are you, and how did you bypass our security?"

"Alien threats?" suggested the woman beside him, an average-looking agent with eyes bluer than Thor's, hands holding a pistol steadily. 

"Maybe," he replied aside. Loki and the Mechanic shared an apprehensive look. 

"What?" His eyes were blank with confusion. Loki shrugged. "Oh. Oh! Sweet shit, that's _clever_ ," he spouted abruptly, light filling his expression. Loki looked around, uncomprehending. The Mechanic pulled him back, "Don't you see? He doesn't see." He addressed the agents, now unsure of where to point their weapons. "He took our _memories_."

It hit Loki like a rumble of thunder, and his mouth flattened in a thin line, annoyed that it took him so long to unravel. "Oh, that is clever."

"Not the ones in our heads--those were too strong for Mephisto dear." He strutted across the room to Fury, who stared at him in confusion. "He took everything about us, in here." The word was accompanied by a somewhat demeaning prod on the forehead to the director, and Loki winced internally at his utter lack of diplomacy. "You can't remember us. None of you! Oh, this is brilliant!"

"I'm gonna ask my question one more time, and you're gonna answer it." His eye narrowed pointedly. "Who are you?"

He whirled back around to face he motley band, a cocky smirk on his face. "I'm the Mechanic, and this is Loki."

He bowed, then turned to see the time traveller heading off down the hall. "Come on, hitchiker! Places to go, worlds to save, and I need to get my coat. I left it in the office..." His high voice faded in the distance.

Loki sighed like a parent with an unruly child off pulling the tags off of matresses. He spared the agents another glance. "It's been a pleasure, Director Fury. Do give Romanov my love." 

And he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, just because exits are nearly as important and entrances. 

The Time Lord was out in front of the building, as suspected, standing beside the strange red and gold vehicle that had greeted him in the void. He turned as Loki approached him, pulling the left sleeve of a long leather jacket over his gautleted arm. "There you are, hitchiker. I was beginning to think you weren't coming. Whaddya think?" He gestured to his whole ensemble, the coat brushing his knees, t-shirt of a Midgardian band visible beneath it, and the strange circle of blue light shining gently in the center. 

Loki smiled. "You look ridiculous." 

He frowned, almost hurt, giving the rearview mirror of the car a pat as though to reassure himself. "Tell you what," he suggested, pulling open the door with a fluid motion. "I'll let you keep the helmet, and you won't say anything clever about the jacket. Come on, you need to apologize to JARVIS." He waved him at the passenger's seat of the vehicle meant, no doubt, to bring them back to his ship from earlier. 

Loki stayed where he was, smile on his face turning bitter and disappearing. "Mechanic." He turned, surprise written into the line of his brows. "I said before that I would not be your companion."

"Yeah, and then we defeated a demon, faced down an army of master assassins, and broke out of a major government facility together. Pardon me for giving you the chance to change your mind." He smiled encouragingly, but faltered, Loki shaking his head ever so slightly. "...You're really not coming, are you?"

He tried to pretend that he couod not detect the utter lonely defeat in the Mechanic's tone, clenching his teeth. 

_He travels alone, and he shouldn't._

The idea came quickly enough, not entirely unlike a conscience, prickling in the back of his mind and causing him to clench his teeth harder. Their eyes met, and he cursed internally. 

"One trip." He pretended to ignore, also, the utter joy that filled his expression at the allowance. "You will take me somewhere where I can..." he trailed off, gesturing to his head, "...fix the cracks."

He grinned so widely that the trickster worried his face would split in two. "I know just the place. And the time, within a few hundred years. Besides," he climbed in, leaning over to swing open the passenger door, "I still owe you a drink, you know."

Loki rolled his eyes again, suspecting that it was about to become a regular habit. He was starting again. It was a strange feeling, not having a long game to plan for, no schemes to wait out unto frutition. He didn't even have the faintest idea of his next step. Fix what was broken, if it could be fixed, and then what? Revenge? But on whom? He sighed, pulling the car door closed behind him, wondering briefly how far it was to the ship.

That is, until he turned to ask the Mechanic, and found himself in the brightly lit lab from before. 

"Full speed ahead, JARVIS!" His hands, gloved and bare alike, flitted over switches and knobs, darting all around the console panel, shifting screens and pushing buttons. "Daddy's home!" Loki gaped at the opposite wall, where a car window shaped view of the Midgardian street flickered and faded, a loud _whoosh_ echoing around the room. Hallways led off in every direction, and he swore he could even smell a field of flowers from the depths of one. His head spun, tongue drying out, and he sunk into a waiting chair as the blood pounded in his ears. A mechanical arm nudged his own, offering a glass with three fingers of scotch. 

Loki took the drink with shaking fingers, briging it to his lips carefully. "Oh," he murmured, only half to himself. "It's bigger on the inside."

**Author's Note:**

> I did it. I wrote an Avengers-Doctor Who crossover. And I really liked it. Honestly, I don't think inspiration has ever held out long enough for me to do something like this before. It's very exciting.
> 
> I have a whole five-or-six part series planned tentatively for the summer, but goodness knows how far I'll get. Just tell me one thing, please: How gen should the Loki/Tony stay? There'll be at least one awkward obligatory companion kiss involved, but how far do I take it? 
> 
> And prompts or suggestions would be infinitely helpful as well, because I want to write this whole thing, I really do.


End file.
